


Bad Habits and Nice Neighbourhoods

by Scarlett_Peacock



Category: Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: F/M, Poisoning, Undercover AU, Watching your partner almost die isn't great, spy AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-20
Updated: 2018-03-20
Packaged: 2019-04-05 07:09:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14038884
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scarlett_Peacock/pseuds/Scarlett_Peacock
Summary: Agents Claire Beauchamp and James Fraser go undercover... what could go wrong?





	Bad Habits and Nice Neighbourhoods

**Author's Note:**

> Hi all! So this fic goes along with the writing workshop started by Gotham-Ruaidh on Tumblr. The prompt was “seemed like a nice neighbourhood to have bad habits”. 
> 
> Hope you all enjoy it, it's certainly something a little different for me!  
> With love - S x

 

He had to call it in. No matter how much she had protested, called him a bastard and demanded that he put the handset down before she killed him herself, he had to.    
  


It had been a simple night of observation during a dinner party held by one of their neighbors, Isadora and Isaac Hill. They mingled jovially with the inhabitants of Oak Street, enjoyed dinner and several glasses of wine under the guise of Bonnie and Joseph Middleton - two specialist surgeons with a two sizable family inheritances and an immeasurable air of elegance. Conversation had flowed, invitations had been extended and introductions made to the guest of the evening, their mark, Baptiste Saint-Germain.   
  


Saint-Germain was a man of the people, or so said most tabloids. Equipped with money, connections, a charming smile and a volatile temper, he oversaw investment across numerous chemical companies across Europe. His name had suddenly cropped up during a bust in a factory on the Russian-Kazakhstan border, where both arms and chemical weapons plans were being stored. Except a name from the mouth of a criminal meant little without hard evidence. When news of his purchasing of a large mansion in an exclusive neighborhood had reached HQ, Agents James Fraser and Claire Beauchamp had been drafted into the field with one objective; stop Saint-Germain.   
  


They had arrived two weeks later, with moving boxes and wedding rings on their left hands. The neighbours had welcomed them with smiles, introductions and an a half hour inquisition. Both Claire and Jamie were sure Saint-Germain had no notion of who they were, and had spent the first week of their move trying to create a chance meeting between he and them. Finally, they stood mere feet apart.   
  


He was bedecked in a suit Jamie was sure cost their combined paycheque, hair coiffed and a smile that lay over tombstone teeth. His conversation had been charming, words carefully chosen. It wasn’t until Jamie had turned his back to look at Isaac’s rare edition of Hume’s  _‘A Treatise of Human Nature’_ , that Saint-Germain had made a move.   
  


In the art of being a spy, or indeed working within the world of dishonesty, one always had to be on the lookout for opportunities. Eavesdropping without so much as turning your head in the direction of the conversation, the ability to be reckless with measured caution - an undetected sleight of hand.

 

Claire had been sipping a large glass of Chardonnay, chatting to Iris and Laura Kelly when suddenly the dizziness had hit, and a pounding headache that beat like a thunderous drum in her temples. It was then that she realised the cause.  _Poison._  
  


Every plant, concoction and method of poison-based murder ran through her mind as she ran to him, grasped his wrist in her hand and tapped out three single beats.   
  


****_Emergency._  
  


He had made their apologies and fled on a goodbye, Claire shaking in his arms. The moment they had crossed the threshold into their home she had immediately gotten sick, convulsions wracking her body. Jamie had run upstairs for an emergency kit, rifling through for a diagnosis kit and a supply of combi-pens and antidotes to common poisonings. When he’d returned to the living room, her body had gone shockingly still and for a single terrifying moment, Jamie was sure she was dead.   
  


Jamie dropped to his knees, searching for a pulse that he prayed would be in the least a stammer beneath her flesh.   
  


_“Damn you Sassenach! if you die here, I swear I’ll kill you myself!”_  
  


His fears were immediately allayed with a gasp of air and a cry of pain.   
  


Working quickly, it had taken all of five minutes to diagnose the offending poison -  _methanol_. How in the hell Claire had missed that he didn’t know,but without sparing another thought, he’d injected her with a dose of Fomepizole and began waiting. Jamie found himself thinking about their careers in the Secret Service, all those years of training. Being an agent was supposed to be cool, filled with technology, suits and fighting the baddies. Someone forgot to explain that it sometimes meant being beaten to a pulp, not catching the bad guy or worse yet, watching your partner almost die from being poisoned.   
  


It had taken another two hours before she’d begun to regain any real consciousness and some semblance of coordination. The sickness and dizziness had stayed with her, and gut-wrenching pain that he hoped would fade as the night drew on.   
  


It hadn’t.   
  


—-------———  
  


“Do you require extraction, Fraser?”   
  


It was a straightforward question, one which he rarely had ever agreed to.   
  


“No, Ma’am. Despite her abdominal pain, headache, vomiting and dizziness, she has assured me she is fine to continue with the operation.”   
  


A scoffing laugh came from the telephone, the tone of his superior even more impatient than usual. “Be honest with me Fraser, can this mission continue?”

 

She was always short and to the point. Would this mission continue and bring success - or were they risking months of work?

 

Jamie paused, looking over to the woman with beads of sweat gathering across her brow - face contorted as she battled the remains of the poison in her system. “If she says she’ll live, I have to believe her.”  
  


A short silence followed, and Jamie imagined his superior sitting in her high backed office chair, staring down at her computer screen. “Keep us updated, Fraser. I won’t risk two agents for this prick.”  
  


“Yes Ma’am.” He answered, trying to hide the smirk in his voice.   
  


“Do try to get some sleep, Fraser.” She said, before offering more words that made Jamie nervous with surprise. “Watching her all night will not make her heal faster, no matter what that heart of yours tells you.”

 

He swallowed hard, hoping she couldn’t detect the underlying fear in his voice that their romantic involvement could be forcibly dissolved should it be seen to be an issue.  “Thank you, Ma’am. Good evening.”

 

“Good evening, Fraser.” She replied curtly, before the line finally cut dead.   
  


“They’re going to pull me out, aren’t they?” Claire asked from the bed, voice sore and aching, filled with exhaustion from the last hours of excruciating pain she’d suffered.

 

“No, no extraction.” He began his walk back to the bed, tentatively sitting beside her curled form. “They’re more worried you’re going to drop dead. And instead of telling anyone, you’re putting on a brave face.”

 

“I’m not going to die,” Claire waved a limp hand dismissively, “You did a perfectly good job with the dosage. Even managed to stick me with a needle this time.”   
  


“Aye well…” Jamie turned to pick up a glass from the locker, but the gasp that erupted from her lips with such piercing anguish that it was almost dropped back in place. Her hand grasped his, knuckles turning ghostly white while the cramping pains violently ate at her tender flesh. Tears filled the corners of her eyes as she closed her eyes tightly, leaving Jamie to wonder if his decision to ignore the offer of extraction were unwise.   
  


His left hand cupped her jaw in an attempt to comfort her, brushing away the sheen of sweat that gathered across her skin. In the five years they had worked together in Her Majesty’s Secret Service, he could count on one hand the times they had both felt real fear in the field. This made the sixth.  

 

“What can I do? Claire tell me, I’ll do anything.”   
  


“Distract me if you can.” Claire answered, trying to take a breath like a woman starved of all air. “What was the last thing Saint-Germain said to you?”   
  


“He -” Jamie shook his head, searching for words that were buried deep amidst the worry wracking his mind. “We were talking about the neighbourhood, it’s exclusivity. He said it seemed like a nice neighbourhood to have bad habits.”  
  


“Oh well he’s ruined ‘The Big Sleep’ forever…” Claire jested, vainly trying to lighten the mood between them. Jamie breathed a laugh as he took the hand still in his own, and raised it to his lips, placing a kiss on the back of it.   
  


“We’ve established he knows we’re not who we say we are…” Jamie sighed heavily, rubbing his temples.   
  


“Hey -” Claire moved up the bed into a straighter position, looking at Jamie with sympathy, “ it happens. Just means this mission needs to be moved a little faster. We can’t risk him leaving.”   
  


Jamie sighed again, wondering how Claire always managed to retain such optimism. “Is he trading on the street, perhaps? Welcoming clients under everyone’s noses?”  
  


She thought for a moment before a light of idea shone in her eyes. “What if he was being literal?”   
  


Jamie merely stared at her perplexed.  
  


“We’ve been saying for weeks he must have accomplices – a gang that’s helping him shift the weaponry between locations.” She waited for the penny to drop, but the confused furrow between his brows only deepened. “What if he’s using the neighbours?”   
  


It took a moment for the concept to sink in, but Claire could have bottled the moment it had. The laugh erupted from his chest, making the bed shake at the force of it. “Fucking hell! Overly helpful neighbours to say the least!”   
  


“Nosy is more like it.” Claire scoffed, reaching out for the water to ease her throat.

 

Jamie stood and walked to the window, twitching the blinds so he might see out into the night and into the glowing windows of his neighbours. “So, you’re thinking he’s literally using the neighbours to move the items for him, leave them wherever and the next thing we know he’s made a deal without so much as crossing the street?”   
  


“Exactly.” Claire answered assuringly. “There were plans there, drives and arms… who’s to say that the overly helpful, nosy neighbours aren’t delivering packages in the hopes of getting on his Christmas card list.”   
  


Jamie chuckled again, dropped the blind and turned back to Claire with a look of glee on his face. “I’ll fix up some extra surveillance tomorrow. If you’re right this’ll be a story and a half for HQ.”   
  


Claire returned his look of amusement, and began to vainly attempt to swing her legs out of the bed so she might stand - a move immediately thwarted by Jamie.  “Not to be that man, Sassenach, but you’ll do no more until I see fit you won’t collapse.”   
  


Claire glared in response, raising an eyebrow in condemnation of the idea. “Oh honestly! This is bloody Montenegro all over again!”  
  


A laugh erupted from Jamie’s chest, causing Claire to smirk despite herself. Sitting again by her side, Jamie leant forward and placed a kiss to her forehead. “You and I remember Montenegro very differently.” 


End file.
